


Lovers to Blame

by ajokethatsonlyfunnywhenyouarealive



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- No Magic, Artist! Simon, Baz is very confident, Fluff, Letters, M/M, Paris (City), Running Away, Summer, Violinist! Baz, there might be some angst too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-16 13:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 6,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajokethatsonlyfunnywhenyouarealive/pseuds/ajokethatsonlyfunnywhenyouarealive
Summary: This one's about running away, falling in love and finding yourself.-"It was beautiful to look at them.They were stupidly, hopelessly, madly in love- everyone, whose heart had been broken before, would have felt a deep pain in their chest."I've stopped working on this fic for now





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is more or less inspired by Lorde's "The Louvre".  
> It's portraying the mood I'm trying to capture in this fic, more or less.  
> The entire album might be showing the mood quite well.  
> I'll put songs into the notes for you.

_“Well, summer slipped us underneath her tongue_

_Our days and nights are perfumed with obsession_

_Half of my wardrobe is on your bedroom floor_

_Use our eyes, throw our hands overboard_

_I am your sweetheart psychopathic crush_

_Drink up your movements, still I can't get enough_

_I overthink your punctuation use_

_Not my fault, just a thing that my mind do_

_A rush at the beginning_

_I get caught up, just for a minute_

_But lover, you're the one to blame_

_All that you’re doing_

_Can you hear the violence?_

_Megaphone to my chest_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Our thing progresses_

_I call and you come through_

_Blow all my friendships_

_To sit in hell with you_

_But we’re the greatest_

_They’ll hang us in the Louvre_

_Down the back, but who cares—still the Louvre_

_Okay I know that you are not my type_

_(still I fall)_

_I’m just the sucker who let you fill her mind_

_(but what about love?)_

_Nothing wrong with it_

_Supernatural_

_Just move in close to me, closer, you’ll feel it coasting_

_A rush at the beginning_

_I get caught up, just for a minute_

_But lover, you're the one to blame_

_All that you’re doing_

_Can you hear the violence?_

_Megaphone to my chest_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it_

_Broadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom_

_And make 'em all dance to it”_

 

_\- Lorde, "[The Louvre"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jaJST4R9eog)_


	2. stop pretending

Baz Pitch wasn’t the kind of person to run away. And at first, moving to Paris hadn’t felt like running. It still didn’t most of the time. Mostly, it felt like _living_.

When Baz had finished school he’d decided to study in France instead of Britain. And once he’d bought a small, way too expensive flat in the middle of the city he felt free like he never did before. No one to watch him, no one to judge him.

His little sister Mordelia had been mad at him. She wouldn’t talk to him for days. It didn’t change Baz’ decision.  He knew that she understood his reasons. It wouldn’t surprise him if she’d do the same thing in a few years.

“You can always call me,” he’d said the day he left. They both knew he was lying. Because Mordelia was too proud to call and Baz wouldn’t be always able to answer her calls. Because everything was too much for him sometimes. Because sometimes, he didn’t know how to deal with his own problems and it would be even harder to deal with his sister’s.

“You too,” Mordelia had replied.  They were both good liars. And sometimes, it just felt _good_ to pretend.

The moment Baz had realized that he had actually run away from home was when he started dating. He walked down the streets with his boyfriend, hand in hand, because no one in his family would know.

It wasn’t that Baz hadn’t had a boyfriend before. But his father wasn’t exactly pleased to find out that his son was gay. From then on, he started dating secretly.

Now, Baz could take boys home if he wanted to. He could technically ask them to move in if he wanted to. He didn’t. He liked his freedom.

Also, his father wasn’t aware that Baz didn’t spend much of his time studying. He was playing the violin, reading, dating and exploring the streets of Paris.

Baz hadn’t cared about his studies before, but now he didn’t even have to pretend. That’s how he imagined freedom.

That’s what he ran away from.  Pretending to be someone else.

He could finally start being his own person.


	3. a plane to wherever

It was no surprise when Simon Snow left Britain. He didn’t like thinking about mistakes. He didn’t like thinking about problems.

He hadn’t really _made_ a decision to move to Paris. A few days after his girlfriend Jasmin had left him he’d just  packed his things and left. His best friend Penny hadn’t been there, she couldn’t stop him.

He knew he had fucked up things royally. It was just what Simon did. It’s what he’d been doing for the past nineteen years of his life. And when Jasmin broke up with him, he dropped out of university and booked the next plane to wherever.

Wherever turned out to be Paris. He didn’t mind. Simon’s French was okay. And Paris felt like a world away from London.

He rented a small room and found a job in a café in a side street. Simon liked that a lot and it hadn’t been a week yet. He had more time to draw. He loved drawing.

And he didn’t need to think too much about tomorrow. That’s what he liked even more. Penny wouldn’t like his way of thinking.

“You need a plan,” she’d say. “You need structure.”

Simon didn’t need a plan at the moment. He needed fresh air and new places to see.

That was a thing Penny wouldn’t understand as well. She needed facts and figures. Books. Simon wasn’t that kind of person.

“You’re a thinker,” he’d told her when they were fourteen. “I’m a doer.”

She’d grimaced. “That’s because you _don’t like_ to think. But how do you know who you are when you don’t think?”

That was Simon’s problem.  He _didn’t_ know. He wasn’t sure whether he’d ever known. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

And that was what Simon ran away from.

Himself.


	4. airports and tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lorde- Liability

_Penny,_

_When you’re reading this I’m already in Paris. Right now, I’m sitting at the airport. I know, you’ll be mad when you realize I’m running away._

_But I need to go. I’m tired of everything, tired of how things are at the moment._

_I’m writing a letter because I already miss talking to you. And because sometimes, it’s better if you don’t answer._

_I’m always relying on other people, mostly on you. I relied on Jasmin. It’s unhealthy.  I guess I’m trying to become my own person._

_I’m not sure what you’d think of that._

_There’s a couple sitting next to me, very much in love. They’re talking, giggling, kissing. Holding hands. It’s beautiful but it’s making me sad. It’s actually making me tear up._

_If Jasmin would call me right now, I might go back. Forget all my plans. Try it again. That’s why I threw my phone away.  I wrote your number down, don’t worry, but I’m not sure I’ll call._

_I’m afraid you’ll talk me out of this. I need to do this, Penny. I really do._

_I’ll keep writing you so you know how I’m doing._

_I’ll come back, I swear._

_Simon_


	5. music and paris

_Dear Agatha,_

_I know it’s been a while. I don’t think you mind._

_Summer has finally arrived in Paris. I sleep with my windows open. Children are playing in the parks. Boys are walking around shirtless. It’s lovely, really._

_Now that our exams for this semester are over I can focus even more on other things.  I’ve practised a new song for the violin. I enjoy playing even more than I used to. One of my_ acquaintances _suggested I should play on the streets. I like the idea. I like sharing my music._

_I started looking for a nice place to play for the past days. I don’t want to play in the way too filled streets. I want people to stop by to enjoy my music. I want them to listen. I don’t even care about money. I just want to move something in people._

_People in France are open for art.  I’ve met many interesting people._

_But it also feels very impersonal. Far away. People only care about your art or not about you at all. I guess every coin has two sides._

_I fearI’m not better. I only care about art._

_I’m not sure if I’ll be back this summer. Living here feels so easy. Maybe I’ll stay. I’d just like to check on Mordelia. She’d never tell me if something was wrong._

_I don’t know yet. I’ll tell you if I do._

_Baz_


	6. music filling the streets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catfish and the Bottlemen: 7- Acoustic  
> All Time Low: A Daydream Away

It took Baz another week to find the courage to play in the streets. He’d decided to practise his favourite songs first, until he felt ready. It wasn’t like he was scared to play in the streets- he’d played on stages before- but he wanted to start playing on a good day.

Today _had_ been a good day. In the morning he had breakfast in a pretty café in a side street. That’s where he was planning to play today. The street had a nice atmosphere and people in the café could listen to his music. He liked the idea.

He’d spent a few hours in his favourite library; studying but also mindlessly browsing for some good books. He liked poetry and classic literature. Literature was inspiring for Baz, so he took his time to read a bit at noon time.

His friend Agatha used to call him ‘caught up in stories’ but he’d never agreed. Sure, books were good, but living was better. He just liked to use literature as an inspiration, it helped him to think, to feel.

Before he left to play in the streets, Baz had called his little sister Mordelia. She had been annoyed that he called, which meant she must have been alright. He’d talked to her for a while. She’d complained about school.

“Everyone’s so _stupid_ , Baz,” she’d whined. “Can you imagine that?”

Baz smiled at the thought of it.

“Yes,” he had told her. “I went to school too, Lia. I can picture it perfectly.”

He understood is sister very well, because university wasn’t any different from school. The only difference was that Baz was far, far away from home.

And far, far away from home felt _so good_. He couldn’t help thinking about how he didn’t miss home at all, when he was walking through the streets of Paris. Especially now that he was entering the side street from the café, he was flooded with happiness.

People had flowers in front of their houses and on their window sills, charging the air with a beautiful scent. The sun was shining mildly and people were talking to each other, laughing, smiling. A few children were playing between fountains, shrieking when the cold water touched their skin.

Baz smiled to himself as he found an empty corner vis-à-vis to the café he found this morning. He set down his violin case and opened it, pulling out a dark violin.  He tuned his beloved instrument and placed it under his chin. Then he closed his eyes.

For Baz, it always felt like the music was flowing directly out of him and the violin was the speaker. The moment he started playing, the sounds around him started to fade. He started with a slow piece, one of his favourites. He’d been playing this song for years; it felt so familiar to him that he trusted himself to open his eyes.

A few people had gathered around him and listened to his music, there were people in the café watching him as well. People who passed by walked slower to look at him. When Baz started playing a faster, more joyful piece the children he’d seen earlier started dancing on the pavement.

He smiled. This was all he’d wanted.

* * *

Simon liked his job.

Of course, there were good days and there were bad days. But most days were good days.

That was mostly because many days could be a good day, even though they were very different. He liked slow days, when not many people came into the café. Those days gave Simon time to let his mind wander, to watch the people wandering the streets. He liked it when interesting people came into the café, sometimes he would talk to them or he could draw them behind the counter. He like days when the café was full and he was busy, he didn’t need to think too much about everything.

Simon liked his job, the good days and the bad days.

But today hadn’t been a good day so far. There was nothing to do and when he started his shift a costumer yelled at him.  That had been everything that had happened today though. Simon’s mind was too empty to draw, he couldn’t concentrate on anything.

Nothing happened in the streets until the late afternoon, when people came home from work, trying to catch the last bits of sunshine today. The café filled itself again. Simon still couldn’t concentrate; his mind was somewhere else entirely.

He had just started taking orders of an old couple who were smiling at each other as if they were still in love like on the first day when he heard it. Someone was playing the violin. This was nothing new for him, not really, he’d seen street musicians all over the place. But the song sounded beautiful.

Simon took a moment to look at the musician. He was tall, probably taller than Simon. He had black hair that nearly reached his shoulders; his lips carried an easy smile. He was beautiful.

It was hard to tear his eyes of the boy. He smiled at his customers and apologized. They smiled knowingly. He took their orders and glanced at the boy again before returning into the café.

He was impressed by how easily the boy could play the violin. It seemed to be as easy as breathing for him. He played for an hour or two, Simon wasn’t sure. He was too busy watching every movement the boy made. Guests of the café had to call for him twice and he had to apologize again and again.

Just the couple outside didn’t seem to mind. Especially the woman smiled warmly at Simon when he brought the bill. “He plays very good, doesn’t he?” she asked while paying. Simon nodded. “Yes. I’m very impressed by his talent.” He really was. The easy movements of the boy, his smile, how his eyes were shining when people stopped to listen to him. His fingers were itching to draw the boy.

“I think the most impressive thing,” the man said now. “Is the fact that he’s not accepting any money.” Simon’s eyes widened. How could the boy not accept money for his beautiful music? Simon shook his head. “That’s unbelievable.”

“He seems to do it just for fun,” the woman smiled. “And he is beautiful to watch.” Simon couldn’t help but nod. His eyes were still glued on the boy. He smiled a bit.

When the couple left after a bit more small talk, Simon got his sketchbook from the staff room. The café was nearly empty now. He sat down at one of the tables where the sun was warming his face and he could still see new guests.

Then he started drawing the boy.


	7. good to draw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a Spotify Playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/user/michakarinlara/playlist/0zZkPcCn11UBqaCWZijGMX

The boy returned the next day. And the day after that. When he arrived the fourth day in a row, Simon’s fingers were already hurting. He’d been drawing the boy so much, it was incredible. Today, his hair was slightly messy; he was wearing a grey shirt and black jeans. Simon’s pencils were already waiting for him to start sketching the pale boy.

The street was bathed in the evening light and Simon decided that today, he could sit outside in the sun. His shift was nearly over anyway and there were no guests left. He felt himself relax while drawing the boy who was a mixture of sharp features and a soft expression while he was playing.

Simon wasn’t exactly sure how much time he’d spent studying the boy and drawing him, but when he was looking up after correcting a few details the boy was gone. Simon frowned. He hadn’t noticed that the boy had stopped playing. Also, he’d been trying to capture the expression on the boy’s face and he wasn’t quite finished. He sighed. He’d have to finish his drawing tomorrow- if they boy was going to play again.

He jumped when someone began talking behind him. “You’re very talented.” Simon turned around, startled. The boy’s voice sounded posh, it was smooth like honey and quiet. Simon looked into his eyes. They had the colour of charcoal and we’re framed by long, dark lashes.

“So are you,” Simon replied, his voice catching in his throat. The boy smiled at that. He looked beautiful ad Simon couldn’t help but stare. They were silent for a few more seconds and Simon started feeling slightly uncomfortable. He stood up from his chair quickly and held out his hand.

“I’m Simon,” he said breathlessly. “Simon Snow.” The corner of the boy’s mouth quirked up into a pleased grin.  He took Simon’s hand.

“Baz Pitch,” he said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“So Baz,” Simon tried out his name. “I’ve noticed that you don’t want money for your music. But not even a bloke like you can say no to coffee, right?” Simon cocked his head to one side, his eyebrows raised. Baz chuckled.

“I’m not sure what kind of bloke I am. But I can’t say no to coffee.” Simon’s eyes lit up and he started smiling brightly. “Great! I’ll get us some coffee real quick,” he explained cheerfully. With a glance around the café he added, “And I’ll serve the new guests.”

Baz raised an eyebrow when Simon left, but said nothing. When Simon returned, he found Baz looking through his sketchbook. He was looking at the sketches Simon had made yesterday. In the sketches, Baz’ hair was pulled back into a bun, eyebrows pulled together in concentration. 

Simon had to blush when he thought of all the sketches he’d made. When he set the cups of coffee down on the table, Baz looked at him curiously. “You either have a very good eye,” he said, a sly grin appearing on his face, “or I’m even _more_ handsome than I thought I was.” Simon rolled his eyes at him and sat down, but he could feel the heat rising to his face. Baz _was_ very handsome.

“I have a lot of time,” Simon justified. “And you’re good to draw.” He watched as Baz flipped through his sketchbook. He usually felt very insecure about his art but the way Baz looked at it was made him feel warm. Baz had reached older drawings that showed the streets of London. There were drawings of Penny and Jasmine- it still hurt looking at them, but Simon had put so much effort into those, he didn’t want to rip them out-  and drawings of strangers.

“I arrived here two weeks ago,” Simon said, feeling the need to explain himself. “My girlfriend broke up with me. I needed to get out of London.” Now Baz was looking at him.

“I’m from London too,” he explained after a few seconds and resumed looking at Simon’s sketches. “I came here last summer.”

Simon took his time to look at Baz while sipping his coffee. His features seemed even sharper now. He had high cheekbones, a sharp jawline and a long, elegant nose. His eyebrows were arched and as dark as his hair.  His skin was flawless. Simon couldn’t believe he’d actually just met the perfect human being.

They sat in the café until it was dark, talking about the most unnecessary things, about art and Paris. Simon found out that Baz had little siblings and liked poetry and he told Baz about Penny and his decision to leave London. When he made Baz laugh he felt triumphant, because he didn’t think Baz was a person who laughed a lot (he had a beautiful laugh). 

When they said goodbye, with each other’s phone numbers and Baz’ promise to play in the streets again tomorrow, Simon felt jubilant.

He found a new friend, he was in Paris, he was drawing.

He was happy.

 

 

 

> _Listen to the[playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/michakarinlara/playlist/0zZkPcCn11UBqaCWZijGMX)_


	8. posh, condescending and every right to be

_Hello Penny,_

_I hope you’re doing fine._

_I’m writing you for various reasons._

  1. _I’ve been writing you every day so far and I’m not stopping now._
  2. _I really miss talking to you._
  3. _I’ve met someone._



_As in I’ve made a friend._

_His name’s Baz, he’s posh, he’s condescending and he has every right to be. He plays the violin, he’s pretty charming under his layers of sarcasm and he’s fucking beautiful. I’m not even joking; he might as well be a god._

_We met because he started playing his music in the streets in front of the café I work at. He is so talented, you wouldn’t believe it. He could take money for it. He doesn’t though. He says it’s because people aren’t generous enough but I’ve watched him._

_He refuses to take money. I know he is just playing because he_ wants _people to enjoy his music. But as long as he keeps pretending I will too._

_I like him very much. We meet again tomorrow._

_I can’t wait for it, I really cannot. I hope you’ll meet him someday too, I think you’d get along._

_You’re both far too intelligent for this world._

_I miss you a lot Penny._

_I’ll write you tomorrow._

_Simon_


	9. a dream that could come true

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello  
> Sorry for not posting!  
> I'm sick and wasn't able to write. I really tried.   
> So I decided to devide the chapter and post the first half today. I hope I'll be able to post soon.  
> Sorry again!  
> X

A week after meeting Simon Snow, Baz broke up with his current boyfriend. 

The fact that he’d just met the most beautiful, sweetest boy had _nothing_ to do with it, of course. Baz had just gotten bored with his boyfriend. At least that was what he was trying to tell himself.

In the past days Simon and he had been developing a routine. After his classes, Baz went into the street of Simon’s café and played until Simon’s shift ways over. Then they’d walk through the streets of Paris and talk. On some days, they had dinner in a nice restaurant.

Like today. They were having ridiculously expensive pizza in the area of the Eiffel tower, sitting outside and enjoying the last minutes of sunlight.

“Why aren’t you studying music?” Simon asked him after a while.  He had nearly finished his pizza already, while Baz hadn’t eaten half of it yet. Simon’s hair was illuminated in the evening light, it looked like a halo.

Baz took a moment to swallow a bite of pizza before he answered. “Because my father is paying my studies. And he wouldn’t pay music,” he explained. Simon gaped at him, utterly confused by his statement.

“Shut your mouth Snow,” Baz said dryly. Simon didn’t like it when he called him ‘Snow’.  Baz liked to do it just to piss him off.

But Simon’s mind was somewhere else.  “Has he never heard you play?” he asked now, eyebrows raised, mouth forming a perfect ‘o’. “You’re so good.”

“Well, my father doesn’t think being a musician is a way to earn money. Or to honour our family,” Baz said, trying to sound like it didn’t matter to him. It mattered a lot to him. 

“But-,” Simon started but Baz interrupted him.

“Snow,” he said. “It’s alright.”

_It wasn’t_. And Simon knew it.

“He can’t just-“

“Yes, he can.”

It _wasn’t_ alright.

“But-“

“ _Simon_ ,” Baz said softly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

He did mind. And _it wasn’t, it wasn’t, it wasn’t._

But Baz loved the fact that Simon cared enough to be upset and it made him smile. Simon smiled back gingerly. Baz took his hand, slowly, so Simon could pull back if he wanted to. He didn’t.

“Simon,” Baz repeated, because he loved saying his name. ”Why do you think I’m here? Because I can still play my music. Because I can be myself.”

He didn’t pull his hand away. Neither did Simon.

“I thought,” Simon began after a while and now he was grinning mischievously. “You were here to be posh and seduce girls with your charming accent.”

Baz had to laugh at that. “Well. Not girls, believe me,” he said because he felt like he could.

Simon was grinning even more. “ _Not_ girls?”

Baz took a moment to look at Simon properly and caught him blushing.

“Definitely not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title: BOY- Little Numbers


	10. sweet words and fevers

They walked through the streets afterwards, watched the tourists.  Baz enjoyed Simon’s company and listened to him talking. He couldn’t believe he’d told Simon that he was gay. He’d never said that out loud. But it had felt right.

He looked at Simon. His curls were messy; he was wearing a white shirt and jeans. His eyes were shining bright and he was smiling. Baz could look at him forever. Suddenly, Simon stopped walking.

“Macarons,” he said delighted. “I have wanted to eat some ever since I came here!” Baz followed his gaze. There was a small booth in front of them, painted in pastel colours. A woman was standing behind the counter; she was young and looked very bored.

Baz attention was pulled back to Simon when Simon gripped his hand and pulled him towards the booth. Simon didn’t stop holding his hand when he stopped in front of the woman and bought ten macarons. 

Then he pulled Baz to the next bench and sat down. He let go of Baz’ hand to open the bag and Baz sat down next to him, leaving just a few inches between them.

“I can’t wait to try these,” Simon mumbled and gave on macaron to Baz. Baz watched Simon eat the first one before he took a bite of his macaron. He sighed. Simon looked at him with wide eyes.

“They’re really good, okay?” Baz said defensively and started grinning. Simon grinned back and Baz had to turn his face away. He felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Now his eyes widened.

“Simon,” he mumbled. “Look.” Their bench was facing the Eiffel Tower. Baz hadn’t noticed because he had been too busy looking at Simon. Now he couldn’t take his eyes of the Eiffel Tower. The sun was setting behind it and bathed everything in the golden evening light.

They stared at the sunset in silence for a while. Baz felt Simon’s presence next to him. He was warm and when Baz looked at him he had to smile. Simon stared at the sunset wide-eyed and open-mouthed; hair illuminated by the sun and blue eyes reflecting the skyline.

Baz forced himself to tear his eyes off Simon and looked at the Eiffel Tower instead. It didn’t take long until he felt a weight against his side. Simon was leaning against him.  Baz didn’t dare to look at him and tried to keep his breathing steady. Soon, he felt Simon’s head on his shoulder too.

Baz couldn’t believe it.

Simon had just fallen asleep on his shoulder.

* * *

Simon woke up when somebody set him down on something very comfortable. He blinked a few times. It was dark around him. And someone was standing in front of him.

“Baz?” Simon asked sleepily.  The figure came closer to his face; it was indeed Baz with very messy hair. “How late is it?”

“Nearly eleven,” Baz explained. He sat down next to Simon’s feet. “You fell asleep on the bench and wouldn’t wake up.” Simon blushed. And Baz had carried him?

“And where are we now?” He asked slowly. Baz laughed at that.

“In my flat,” he explained. “Where else would we be?”

“Oh,” Simon said and tried to look around. It was too dark. But he was pretty sure he was sitting on a couch. He sat up and looked at Baz. He tried to hide a yawn.

“Look,” Baz said. “It’s late. You can stay here if you want to.” Simon took that as a sign to let himself fall back onto the couch. Baz chuckled and got up.

A few seconds later, Simon got hit by a pillow and a blanket.

“And take your shoes off!”

* * *

When Simon woke up the next time, the room was flooded with morning light. Simon squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in the pillow. It smelled like Baz. _Baz. I’m at Baz’ apartment!_

Simon sat up quickly and looked around. There wasn’t much furniture in Baz’ living room.  A dark couch, that Simon was sitting on, a coffee table, a large TV, bookshelves and a dark armchair with Baz Pitch himself in it. His hair was messy (Simon loved when it looked like that) and he was wearing dark jeans and white button-up. But Baz’ shirt was still hanging open and Simon’s eyes were glued onto Baz’ pale chest.

After a few seconds, Baz cleared his throat. He must have noticed that Simon was awake. Simon tore his eyes of Baz’ chest and let them wander up to his face **.** He took his time; letting his eyes linger here and there. 

Baz was smirking.  He stood up slowly and walked up to Simon. Simon watched him.

“Good morning,” Baz smirked. Simon pulled his knees up to his chin and yawned.

“Morning,” he mumbled then and smiled. Baz sat down on the now empty space on the couch. He didn’t button his shirt. _Show-off_ , Simon thought.

“Did you sleep well?” Baz asked now. Simon nodded.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he said. Baz pushed a hand through his hair and smirked.

“Well, I never mind having good-looking men in my flat even though I prefer them in my bed,” he said, his voice was still rasp from his sleep.  That was all it took. 

Simon grabbed Baz by his shirt collar and smashed their lips together. After a few heartbeats of shock, Baz gripped Simon’s hair with one hand and pulled him closer with the other one. Simon pushed Baz onto his back and lay down on top of him. Then he bit Baz lower lip softly before deepening the kiss.

After a while- it might have been minutes or hours, Simon wasn’t sure- Baz’ hands found their way under Simon shirt, softly wandering over his skin. Simon tore his lips away from Baz’ lips and started to kiss his jawline. He kissed down Baz’ neck until he reached his collarbone. He softly bit Baz there before pressing their lips together again.

Simon hadn’t forgotten that Baz’ shirt was still hanging open. Now he let his hands wander over Baz’ torso and kissed him softly. Once, twice-

Until a phone started ringing. Simon looked up, causing their faces to be far more apart than he would have liked them to be. Baz cursed something under his breath while pulling his phone out of his jeans pocket. He rolled his eyes when he saw who called, but answered nonetheless. Simon leaned down again and hid his face in the crook of Baz’ neck.

“Wellbelove,” Baz said now and Simon was proud that he sounded quite breathless. He kissed Baz neck once. He could hear a female voice talking through the phone.

“Listen,” Baz answered and started stroking Simon’s back. “That’s not even close to important right now. Can I call you later?” The voice on the phone sounded angry but Baz ended the call quickly.

“That was rude,” Simon mumbled and started playing with the collar of Baz’ shirt. Baz chuckled and kissed the top of Simon’s head.

“Oh, she’ll get over it,” he mused. “And there are more important things right now.”

“Breakfast?”

“Breakfast.”

“Maybe ‘Breakfast’ will be our always, Baz.”

“Oh, _fuck off_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even close to being done.  
> Btw I know you were all waiting for those 2013 TFIOS vibes(or terrible jokes)  
> Chaptername: Hard Feelings/Loveless by Lorde


	11. excuses

_Agatha,_

_I know I said I’d call you later, but I was busy._

_The reason I was busy is called Simon Snow. And before you start judging me, it’s different with him._

_Simon is from London too and he is fucking beautiful. He’s an artist and he came here to forget about his girlfriend. Now you probably think ‘Keep dreaming’ or something similar, but Simon kissed me._

_I’m hopelessly in love with him._

_Everything is so easy when I’m with him, it’s like I don’t have to think. I can be whoever I want to be with him._

_It’s unbelievable. It feels amazing. And I don’t want it to stop._

_I’ll send you a picture of him. And before any of your weird friends say anything, he’s_ obviously _taken._

_By me._

_Baz_

_P.S. As you might have guessed, I’m staying in Paris this summer. If you want to see me, come here._


	12. living together

“Simon.”

“No.”

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“I have classes.”

“ _Skip_ them.”

Baz didn’t know when exactly Simon had moved in with him, but it had happened. Now there was Simon everywhere in his flat. His clothes on the floor, his easel and paint in the living room. And, of course, the one and only-and very naked- Simon Snow who had been sleeping in his bed for nearly two weeks now. Right now, he was clinging to Baz like his life was depending on it.

“I can’t just skip my classes, Snow,” Baz mumbled and kissed one of Simon’s many moles. It was on his neck, one of Baz’ favourite places. Simon grumbled something and pulled Baz even closer.

“I don’t even know how you can concentrate all day,” he whined now. “It’s way too hot outside.” Baz grinned while supressing every comment about the word ‘ _hot_ ’ that came to his mind.

“I can’t,” he said instead and tried to sit up. He failed miserably. “But don’t you have to work anyway?”

Now Simon sat up, forgetting about Baz for a second. Baz used his chance and got up quickly.

“Hey,” Simon said. “That’s unfair. And I don’t have work until noon.”

“I know,” Baz grinned, while opening his wardrobe to find some clothes. He took his time, because Simon was watching him and he loved attention. Then he went into the bathroom to take a shower.

Living with Simon was everything he’d ever dreamed of. Baz loved having him around. He was energetic and beautiful and funny. He inspired Baz. He’d even started composing again.

They’d often sit in the living room, Simon painting or drawing and Baz composing or playing. It felt so utterly _right_ having him here, Baz couldn’t believe how he’d survived without him.

When Baz left the shower, Simon was already standing in the kitchen. He was only making coffee, of course- Simon was a terrible cook. Baz walked up behind him and put his arms around his boyfriend’s waist, then he kissed the crook of his neck.

Simon turned around and leaned against the counter. He pulled Baz closer and kissed him softly. Baz stroked his cheeks lightly.

“Do you _really_ need to go?” Simon whined and hid his face in Baz’ chest.

“Yes,” Baz mumbled. “But I’ll be back soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

“Oh come on, love,” Baz said soothingly. “It’s fine.”

Simon’s pout turned into a smile quickly. “Say that again.”

Baz grinned and cupped Simon’s face with his hands and kissed him again. “I’ll see you later, _love_.”


	13. in london

Back in England, Penelope Bunce hadn’t received any letters in the past few days.

She wasn’t sure what had happened exactly, but she knew the reason was called Baz Pitch. In his last letters, Simon had mentioned the boy more than once.

Penny was happy for her friend, she would just prefer if he’d write more often. Or even call. She missed her friend. And she was still upset that he’d left without a word. She didn’t quite understand why he’d left London.

Of course, he’d been through a difficult breakup- but he’d been away for nearly two months now and Penny didn’t agree with him dropping out of university.

And now, he’d stopped writing her.

Penny was upset with him. And she couldn’t call him because he had a new phone. She couldn’t tell him how much she missed him. How much she admired him for being brave enough to leave. How much she hated the fact that he hadn't come back.

_What was Simon doing?_


	14. perfect places

Simon’s shift was officially over. He threw his apron into his locker and walked out of the café cheerfully. Baz was already leaning against a street lamp- he’d been playing the violin again- and looked at Simon.

Simon walked up to him and pulled Baz into a kiss. He could feel Baz’ pleased grin on his lips.  Simon pulled away slowly. “How are we celebrating the end of the semester?” Simon asked and took Baz hand. They walked down the street a bit before Baz answered.

“We could go to the beach.” Baz suggested and Simon raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a bit late for it, isn’t it?”

Baz drew circles on Simon’s hand. “Well not just today,” he explained, “We could go there for a weekend.”

Simon gaped at him. “An entire weekend? Really?”

Baz smiled at that. “Why not?” he asked and Simon smiled at him.

“When could we leave?”

Baz glanced onto his phone. “We could be gone in an hour.”

Simon’s smile widened. “Wait here,” he said and kissed Baz softly. Then he ran back to the café to take a few days off.

* * *

Simon had been singing the entire car ride. Baz didn’t mind. Simon was singing all the time and he’d gotten used to it very quickly. Even though Baz was confused how Simon fit all of those song lyrics into his head.

Right now, _Perfect Places_ was playing and Simon was really into it.

_“Every night, I live and die_

_Feel the party to my bones_

_Watch the wasters blow the speakers_

_Spill my guts beneath the outdoor light_

_It's just another graceless night_

_I hate the headlines and the weather_

_I'm 19 and I'm on fire_

_But when we're dancing I'm alright_

_It's just another graceless night”_

 

The sun was setting and everything around them was painted in a beautiful shade of red. They were on an empty road, no other car to be seen. Baz had opened the windows and wind was messing up Baz’ hair. He didn’t care.

After a while, he could feel Simon’s hand on his. He turned to look at him. Simon was smiling at him. Baz smiled back like the fool he was.

“We’ll miss the sunset,” he said after a while, eyes back on the road. He was still smiling.

“We’ll watch the sunrise then,” Simon suggested. Out of the corner of his eyes Baz could see that he was smiling too.

“Are you even able to get up before ten?” Baz joked and Simon laughed.

“Yes I am,” he said. “But only if it’s to watch the sun rise over the ocean with you.”

Baz said nothing. He was too happy.

He let his thoughts wander until they were interrupted. His phone was ringing.

“Who is that?” he asked and Simon took the phone out of the glove box.

“ _Mordelia_ ,” he said, struggling to say the name out loud. “Do you want me to answer it?”

“No,” Baz said quickly. “I’ll call her back tomorrow.”

Simon raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? It could be important.”

“I’m sure,” Baz said firmly. He swallowed twice before turning to Simon. He smiled. “It’s fine.”

* * *

“It’s beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“That was disgusting.”

“Shut up, moron. I’m trying to be _romantic_.”

“ _Kiss me_ , then.”

It really was beautiful. The sky was light pink, the sea was rushing. There was no soul at the beach. Except, of course, for the two boys who were sitting in the sand. They were kissing and holding hands.

* * *

_All of the things we're taking_

_'Cause we are young and we're ashamed_

_Send us to perfect places_

_All of our heroes fading_

_Now I can't stand to be alone_

_Let's go to perfect places_

_All the nights spent off our faces_

_Trying to find these perfect places_

_What the fuck are perfect places anyway?_

* * *

It was beautiful to look at them.

They were stupidly, hopelessly, madly in love- everyone, whose heart had been broken before, would have felt a deep pain in their chest.

_This can’t last_ , they’d say.

 

 

Oh, how right they’d be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perfect Places- Lorde


End file.
